


looking for a new way (to tell the time)

by halogensleep



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Baby Harry, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Charlynch - Freeform, Charlynch Fill, Charlynch Having A Baby, F/F, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Lesbian Marriage, Lesbian Romance, Pregnancy, Trials And Tribulations Of Having A Baby, lesbian family, lesbian fiction, lesbian love, lesbian story, married charlynch, possible series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 05:10:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17933465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halogensleep/pseuds/halogensleep
Summary: Prompt: Snapshots of a married Charlynch pregnancy and the ensuing baby adventures!Charlotte and Becky have been living life on the road one mile to the next, keeping track of the time city by city, because such is the life of two wrestlers who are part of the grandest show there is. However both of them are desperate for a new way to keep track of the time, now they're ready to embark on a new chapter of their married life and have a baby together.





	looking for a new way (to tell the time)

**Author's Note:**

> [ACCOMPANYING SONG TO LISTEN TO: UP - MARRIED LIFE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LaLegF2hAxI)
> 
> PLEASE REVIEW IF YOU WANT MORE CHARLYNCH STORIES  
>  

It was that delicious hour of morning when the world was neither awake or asleep.

Outside, the sky was auburn and purple, dark and swirling with the promise of a new day with the trees already tentatively shaking in their excitement. Inside, the day had already begun some hours ago with bags still in the process of being packed and the citrusy smell of fruit radiating from the kitchen where things were being pulped and juiced ready for the day of travel ahead.

“Dude shake a leg, we have to go soon if we’re going to make it to Vegas on schedule! It’s time to get this show on the road!” Charlotte halted as the early bird pushed the kitchen door open. “Ah, there you are.” She pushed a small smile, slightly relieved.

“I’m ready,” Becky blurted with a hard swallow.

Charlotte paused and furrowed her brow, unsure on why her wife was stating the obvious. “Yeah, I can see that.” She nodded to the finished suitcases in the living room. “Come and get breakfast, we might have time for coffee but no promises...”

“I don’t mean Smackdown. Well, I mean, I’m _ready_ for Smackdown. But…” Becky inhaled. “I’m also ready to have a baby. You asked me to think about it, and I’ve thought about it, and that’s my answer.” She nodded decisively. “I want to have a baby, with you, specifically, and ideally quite soon, well, in the near future at least—” It started to unravel into nervous, inaudible utterings.

Charlotte blinked as the foundations of her reality were ripped from beneath her feet just like that. If life had taught her one thing it was that they had to build all of their roads on the assurance of today because the promise of tomorrow, of the future, of being able to plan ahead, well, it always had a way of falling down mid-flight. That was the nature of the beast, of being part of a travelling circus, of being married to someone who was part of the troupe too. There was no such thing as tomorrow, next week, or six months from now. For them all of it was moment to moment, location to location, living life by the measured spoonful.

It had been the early hours of the morning when Charlotte first mentioned she wanted to have a baby. She was slumped on a hotel bed with an ice pack, sweating and exhausted from the last match, bristling into the ache of her biceps. Becky was fresh out of the shower with a thin sheen of dampness still coating her skin, and her expression was indifferent if not slightly surprised by the news. Charlotte assumed the comment had been brushed off and that was that. Truth be told, she was a little bit grateful it had been. She wasn’t sure what the logistics of either one of them being pregnant would even begin to look like.

Apparently, it hadn’t been brushed off at all. Instead it had been turned around, thought about, played and toyed with in the troublemaker’s mind for the last five weeks.

“You… you want to have a baby?” Charlotte whispered in surprise, still not quite absorbing it.

“Have you changed your mind?” Becky’s voice quietened with disappointment. She blinked and tried to hide her small, tight frown. “It’s alright if you have, we can wait?”

“No, I’m tired of waiting,” Charlotte blurted and rubbed her mouth, then her jaw, shocked and overjoyed. “Jesus, we’re going to try for a baby?” The chuckle was loud and happy.

“I’m tired of waiting too.” Two strong hands found Charlotte’s hips and the set of lips nibbled and devoured her own. “I am ready for a life with you. A real one, a lovely one,” Becky mumbled and pressed her forehead forward.

“The company is going to be so mad,” Charlotte burst with an excited giggle.

“They’re going to be fuming.” Becky grinned and bit her bottom lip. “Let’s have a baby, love. We’ve waited long enough.” The lip began to wobble under her teeth with profound, acclimating joy.

 

…

 

The pregnancy test had become a ritual of sorts, one that afforded very little privacy for Charlotte.

She closed her eyes and grimaced in frustration with a test between her legs, her body refusing to do the deed. The troublemaker insisted on sitting on the edge of the bath, happily wittering about what colour they would paint the spare bedroom, what sort of tiny booties the baby would wear.

Eventually—eyes clenched and the faucet running—the deed was done. The stick was placed on the counter and the wait began.

“This is the one,” Becky always said it with conviction, this time being no different.

“I don’t feel pregnant.”

“Well it was my egg so they’re probably still quite tiny in there.”

“Do you even understand how pregnancy works?” Charlotte cocked a brow. “We went to the doctor’s office three weeks ago. It’s not even a _them_ yet. It’s not even the size of a raisin.”

“You look pregnant.”

“I will fucking slap you through that door.” Charlotte pointed sternly.

“I don’t mean it like that!” The apology was exuberantly excited, a hand slipping across her tight, slim stomach. “You’re glowing, you’re beautiful, you’re definitely pregnant with our baby! I’m beyond ready for this.” She pecked a kiss.

“Me too,” Charlotte exhaled nervously and held her wife’s hand. “Growing a tiny you is going to be a lot of hard work,” she smirked at the thought.

“I don’t think I’m going to survive the need to keep you both safe for nine months.” Becky hmph’d and perched her chin on top of Charlotte’s shoulder. “I want to put you on bedrest already.”

“Not happening, Champ, give it up.” Charlotte rolled her eyes.

“Well, a girl can dream.”

“Do you think it’s been sixty seconds yet? I think it’s been sixty seconds.”

“Just,” Becky sighed and pulled her in closer. “Stay here a minute, please.  I want this minute with you before we look…”

Charlotte sighed and smiled. They stayed there, snuggling, excited, teetering on the edge of motherhood. Charlotte closed her eyes and prayed for a tiny miracle, prayed for little booties, prayed for big brown eyes and Irish freckles. It was prayed for so hard that her knuckles became white around her wife’s hands.

“You ready?” Charlotte muttered softly.

“Is it your turn or my turn?”

“You can look.” Charlotte nodded.

Becky pulled away with a hard swallow and tentatively took the test from the counter. There was a hopeful smile that slightly dimpled her cheeks. She turned the test over and glanced at the little box where two blue lines should politely greet them into motherhood.

Charlotte watched on helplessly as the hopeful smile receded into a crestfallen frown.

“Next time.” Becky nodded with a deep exhale and tossed the stick in the trash can. “It’s going to happen next time, I can feel it in my bones.” She reassured with an emphatic nod.

Charlotte lowered her head. The back of her neck was rubbed, the information processed and rejected, simultaneously, on loop, absorbing and resisting itself. There was nothing she could do that she hadn’t done already, that she wasn’t doing presently. It ate her insides anyway. She did everything she could not to cry, not to want this too much, not to let on how desperate she was to have a new metric of time to measure their lives by instead of measured spoonfuls.

“Sorry,” Charlotte whispered.

“Come here,” Becky said softly and slipped her fingers beneath her chin, not a single ounce of accusation in her eyes. “It’s not your fault, love.”

“Next time,” Charlotte promised and tried to let go of her disappointment with a deep exhale. “It’ll happen next time.”

“That’s the spirit.”

 

…

 

They held hands and stared at the little window as the test started to develop.

One blue line.

“Next time,” Becky hushed away the tears. “I promise you, love, it will happen next time.” Her arms grew tight and protective.

“It’s my fault,” Charlotte whispered into Becky’s collarbone, nodding a bit, devastated and sure of it.

“You’re doing everything right. None of this is anyone’s fault.” Becky rubbed her back. “Next time.”

 

…

 

“I don’t want to look,” Charlotte whispered.

“No, no, no! This is it! It’s definitely the one this time!” Becky nodded defiantly and became excited. “You better look at that test, Charlotte Flair, because we are about to be mothers and I want to remember exactly how you looked the moment we found out!” She rubbed her hands with glee.

“Becky…” Charlotte inhaled and blinked, unsure of how to be excited anymore. “I don’t think I can look…”

“Alright grumpy gills,” Becky gave in and grabbed the test from the marbled counter, she then hesitated for a moment. “You sure you don’t want to do this one together?” She offered one last time with a small, happy smirk worked into her cheeks.

Charlotte shook her head, desperately trying not to let herself fall into old traps and get too hopeful only to be devastated a moment later. She had already firmly decided that they weren’t going to be mothers today. It was swallowed down with her morning cornflakes, forced to sit in her belly where a baby should be, and making that reality stick had became the challenge of a lifetime over the last eight months worth of negative tests.

“Well I’m going to look,” Becky rolled her eyes and flipped the test over.

Charlotte gave in and felt her stomach knot with hope, felt her bones became stiff, felt her entire body lean forward with the wish for a burst of laughter followed by wonderful news.

Becky swallowed and chewed a tiny sad smile. Then she slightly shook her head.

“Next time,” Becky whispered and threw the bad news away. “It’ll happen next time, my love.”

 

…

 

Charlotte sat on the edge of the bathtub with her hands knitted tightly behind her head. She couldn’t look, couldn’t bring herself to entertain this charade anymore. It was too painful, too guilt inducing, too heartbreaking an affair watching Becky’s face fall with sadness each and every time they came together in the master bathroom that now doubled as their prayer altar.

There was a long, hesitant pause while Becky stared at the developing test.

Charlotte felt like she couldn’t breathe. Before all of this, she thought she knew what it was like to stress test her body. It was what they did for a living after all. But this; the rounds of IVF, the hormone shots, the pain, the mood swings, it was beyond anything she felt words could do justice. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure of how long she could keep doing this.

“Next time,” Becky whispered quietly and carefully set the negative test back down. “This time it wasn’t meant to be.”

The tears dripped and dribbled on Charlotte’s thighs.

“Becky…” Charlotte lifted her head and didn’t know how to say it, instead she just rubbed her quivering mouth and hoped for the absolution of her guilt. “I can’t keep doing this,” she whispered guiltily.

“One last time?” Becky whispered with an understanding expression. “One more and then if it doesn’t go our way we stop for a while, what do you think?” She kissed her knuckles.

“One last time,” Charlotte tentatively agreed.

 

…

 

The test had been put off for three weeks longer than usual.

Becky didn’t push the matter, and instead, their lives were resumed with a level of relative normalcy. There was no mention of having baby, not even a hint of it in the air. The time was spent and measured using other methods; late lie-ins wherever possible, boxset binge watches, kisses wherever they could be slipped in, trips to the far corners of the country for house shows where the only troubles and decisions they faced were who would get to pick the playlist for the ride home. Charlotte usually won, she was the one still off in-ring duties after all.

In Columbus, Ohio, Charlotte awoke to the dusky hours of morning creeping through the curtains and a nauseous feeling sloshing in her stomach. Becky was challenging Asuka for the championship in a stunt riddled pinfall-only match, and so she put it down to that mostly.

The alternative wasn’t possible, she refused to let herself believe it. Charlotte slumped on her spine with a deep sigh and accidentally disturbed the dreamer curled up beside her.

“Hmm?” Becky mumbled, still asleep. “Oh yes, take your top off.”

Charlotte lifted a brow and peered at her dozing, fast asleep wife. “Take what off?”

“They’re massive,” Becky whispered and burrowed deeper into the pillow, her forehead wrinkling a bit. “I love them.” She sighed happily.

Charlotte couldn’t stop a smile forming in the corners of her mouth as she pushed the soft ginger baby hairs off her wife’s head. Becky just furrowed her brow deeper, her lips quirking into a sleepy pout.

“You’re a dirty old man.” She kissed her temple.

Charlotte slipped off her shirt off with a happy smile and nuzzled into the dreamer’s warm skin. The little shorts remained, along with nothing else but soft messy blonde hair and hopes for a good day. Becky sighed in her sleep and grabbed the cuddler’s hand, locking their fingers together so Charlotte couldn’t get too far away.

“Love you,” Charlotte whispered into her ginger hair.

Becky yawned and nodded, shuffling herself deeper a little bit into Charlotte’s embrace. “Are you topless right now?” she grumbled and cracked open an eye, slightly hopeful.

“Why spoil the surprise?” Charlotte slipped the blankets up her skin.

“Did you have good dreams?” Becky asked, rousing slowly.

“Mmhm,” The Queen smiled. “What about you?”

“Oh yes,” Becky whispered with a pleased smirk. “The _best_ dreams.”

“Dirty ones then?”

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Pervert.” It made Becky weakly grin.

Under the covers, the morning cold couldn’t find them. In the bed, blinds shut, door locked, the world would wake up and be none the wiser for their prolonged absence. Charlotte sighed and slipped a hand underneath Becky’s top, nimble fingers pushing up her warm belly until she was eventually holding something more substantial. The room above theirs was already thumping and humming with sleepy regretful movement, probably one of the other wrestlers booked into the same hotel trying to get a jump start on the day.

Charlotte didn’t empathise in the slightest.

Becky slung her arm around The Queen, almost protectively. There was a small growl in her voice, a low tiny fierce noise that throttled her windpipe. Charlotte watched her eyebrows knit together, her nose wrinkle upwards like something was on her mind. She didn’t ask questions, instead she soothed with her hands and cuddled a little harder. Becky drifted in and out of sleep, one toe in the water and one foot on the sand, neither awake or dreaming anymore. The Irish woman tightened her protective embrace anyway, as if that was the only purpose should could be certain of in this state that was neither conscious or sentient.

The wave of nausea was sudden, violent, barrelling up the walls of her gut and frothing into the back of her throat so quickly that she launched herself out of bed with her hands still grasping the blankets and hit the floor ass first. The toilet was made barely in time. Charlotte kicked the door closed behind herself with a slam and heaved into the porcelain, stuck on her knees and aware that the lie in she had hoped for was crashing mid-flight.

“Baby?” Becky’s sleepy, cautiously excited voice whispered through the cracked door. “Do you need anything—”

“Privacy.” Charlotte wiped her mouth and wretched again, nearly simultaneously. “Can you go take a morning run or just, well, not be here?”

“But it’s only half past five—” The statement was cut off by the sound of her guts trying to escape again. “Okay, yep, no problem! I’ll go and see if the Usos are awake,” Becky quickly changed her tune.

“Love you,” Charlotte mumbled.

“Love you too… should I get the test out of the suitcase before I leave?” The Irish woman’s voice tinged with hope.

“Not right now,” Charlotte slumped and rested her cheek on her forearm. “It’s probably food poisoning, don’t get excited babe.”

“Food poisoning? All you ate yesterday was a cream cheese bagel and all of the ginger from my sushi platter!” She could hear the little excited thumps of Becky’s feet dancing on the wood. “This is morning sickness!” She burst with laughter.

“Go for a run and we can take a test tonight.” Charlotte relented with a small smile. “I’m still calling food poisoning though, that ginger was testy.”

…

 

Becky lost the match. They knew that already, had known it for some days in fact, but it didn’t make the disappointment any easier to bare. Charlotte watched on from the monitors backstage as The Man trudged up the ramp to the chorus of faithful adoring chants of her name. She was bruised and deeply bothered by the soreness of it too if her limp was anything to go by. The Empress had thrown her on to a pile of steel chairs from the top of a ladder for the grand finale, which, by anyone’s estimations, was a _hell_ of a way to lose a fight.

Charlotte was already waiting by the wings of side stage when she turned the curtain.

“Good day at the office, honey?” Charlotte chewed a tiny smirk as The Man limped up to her.

“Hilarious. I forgot I married a comedian,” Becky rolled her eyes and clutched her ribs. She leaned forward and pecked The Queen’s cheek, then hesitated and pecked again. “You smell nice, what perfume are you wearing?”

“Your favourite…” Charlotte dropped her voice and lifted a manicured brow, “I’m wearing suspenders too, you know I have a real thing for tough guys.” She traced a finger over the little scratch on her wife’s jaw, lips quirking into a cheeky smile.

Becky inhaled and became stuck in intrigue, blinking and suddenly not sore anymore. She opened and closed her mouth, glancing Charlotte up and down with wiggling eyebrows that told stories of all the things she wanted to do once they got back to the hotel, or maybe just to the car if the impatient nibble of her bottom lip was anything to go by.

“Think they’ll miss us if we leave early?” Becky dropped her tone and glanced around.

“Already cleared it,” Charlotte waved it off. “I told the girls we have an appointment with the doctor tomorrow.”

“Oh I love it when you’re sneaky,” Becky growled playfully. “Come on, come bandage your man up so we can get out of here…”

 

…

 

“What is this?” Becky gasped as the hotel door was pushed open.

Inside, the room was filled with candles, rose petals, along with other accoutrements that had been scouted in the hour Charlotte had spare before she had to leave for the show. In the center of the bed there was a slender necklace-sized Tiffany’s box that she had gone to the trouble of wrapping in pink and blue ribbon.

Becky stalled and stared at it.

“That looks just about big enough to fit a pregnancy test inside, Charlotte.”

Charlotte set her car keys on the side table and adjusted herself slightly, her heart punching sharply into her ribs. This was the surprise, the _real_ surprise at least. The underwear, the rose petals, all of that other stuff, that was just in case this turned out to be another eight-thousand dollar write-off of IVF treatment. Which, if that was going to be the state of things, she was determined they would still have a reason to smile afterwards. A life that involved just the two of them for a little longer than anticipated wasn’t a reason to lose hope, in fact, maybe it was the exact opposite.

“I didn’t look,” Charlotte whispered and stepped forward to clutch her hand as her wife stared at the box on the bed with laser-focused vision. “We do this one together, and no matter what it says we’re going to celebrate like it’s good news. If the IVF didn’t take, we pick ourselves back up and we go on vacation somewhere warm and faraway… that will be our good thing to look forward to.”

Becky inhaled and held her breath for a moment. “You pissed on a stick and put it in a Tiffany’s box, and still—knowing all of that—I have never been more excited in my life.” Becky grinned and squeezed Charlotte’s hand. “And no matter what it says there’s something I want to tell you…”

“That it was you who put my gold ring robe in with the dark colours?” Charlotte raised a brow, remembering the SummerSlam incident.

“Oh that was three years ago, give it up!” Becky scowled and shook her head, catching herself quickly. “Which, by the way, is not an admittance of guilt!” The finger was raised sharply.

“Well alright, continue.” Charlotte nodded and let it go.

“Whatever that test says…” Becky sombered herself and swallowed, running a hand through her long ginger hair so her antsy fingers had something to do. “You are my happily ever after. No ifs, no buts, no matter what happens, it’s always going to be you.”

“Jesus Christ please don’t make me cry.” Her throat stinged and quivered. “I really want to be in the mood for sex later and if I start crying I won’t stop.”

“I literally got thrown off a ten-foot ladder into a pile of steel chairs less than two hours ago and you’re worried a few tears are the thing that’s going to stop us fucking tonight?” Becky blinked in disbelief.

Charlotte sighed and looked at the ceiling, then looked at her shoes. “Well I’m a very gentle lover,” she mumbled beneath her breath with a shrug. “Things like that have never stopped us before.”

“That you are,” Becky agreed with a smirk. “Now… I’m ready if you are?” She picked up the blue box.

Charlotte had long since given up praying to god, to the universe, to all of the deities that might be able to grant them this one small wish. This time she stood there and prayed to the Wizard of Oz in the slim hope that just for once she wouldn’t watch her wife’s lips curl into a small frown. It wasn’t rational and Charlotte was beyond needing it to be. She watched Becky’s bruised fingers pull the ribbon loose and lift the lid. Charlotte held her breath as the tissue paper was dug through, as the stick was finally pulled free.

She couldn’t bring herself to look at the little window. Instead, she peered at Becky’s expression.

“Oh my god.” Becky’s eyes became wider and wider, and her jaw slackened into absolute uselessness.

“Oh my god!” Charlotte stepped backwards and snatched her hand to her mouth in utter shock. “Please tell me you’re not kidding!”

Becky pushed the pregnancy test forward and pointed at the two long awaited little blue lines.

“We’re having a baby!” Becky’s voice croaked with tearful excitement.

 

…

 

The bump was barely there, was easily lost with sparing layers, was smaller than what it should be for the three month mark. Becky apparently didn’t care in the slightest that there wasn’t much to put her hands on. Charlotte had grown so used to a careful hand always rubbing her belly that whenever Becky was in the shower or at the gym, she felt slightly naked.

That was the state of things.

Bliss.

 

…

 

“Becks,” Charlotte gently elbowed her awake.

The Irish woman was up and alert, immediately. She switched on the lamp and found her car keys, stumbling out of bed in search of sweatpants and a jacket. There wasn’t an ounce of indignation in the air, not even a single frustrated noise. Becky just gathered herself and blinked the sleep out of her eyes, tying her loose ginger hair into a bun.

“It’s two in the morning and you’re not even going to ask why I woke you up?” Charlotte lifted an eyebrow and watched the human labrador look around for her purse.

“The big can of Dole pineapples and a bottle of sriracha sauce, but not the extra-hot kind because the baby isn’t keen, this isn’t my first rodeo.” Becky tossed a happy smirk over her shoulder as the sweatshirt was zipped up. “Give me your prettiest smile and then I can be on my way to the shops…”

“The baby just moved, idiot.”

“What?” Becky dropped her purse.

“Get over here,” Charlotte giggled and slapped the covers. “Your baby is currently river dancing on my bladder and I don’t want you to miss it.”

The sheets were clambered over and an eager gentle hand found the cathedral of her belly. Becky barely breathed, her eyes wide and unblinking with the pleasant surprise. Charlotte sighed and waited for the wriggle to happen again, certain their baby—who had apparently gone rifling up into her ribcage if the soreness there was anything to go by—would have to come out again sooner or later.

Like a goldfish bumping into the side of a glass bowl, there was the tiniest of flutters. Becky’s brown eyes pearled and glimmered with absolute joy.

“Oh that’s the tiniest river dance I have ever seen!” she crooned in awe and traced a finger over the skin. “Hi baby, it must be oh so very snug in there,” she softened and cradled the pair of them.

“Have you ever been so happy?” Charlotte sighed and commiserated.

“Our wedding day maybe, but this is a close second.”

“The doctor said they’re about the size of an orange but it feels like a melon with elbows in there,” Charlotte hmph’d and tried to find a comfortable position.

“Not comfortable then?” Becky fussed and rubbed her arm. “My poor girl.”

“Your baby is rubbing its toes on my spine,” Charlotte grimaced and absolved the worrier. “Do you know what would really cheer me up?” She hopefully cracked open an eye.

“Yeah yeah,” Becky kissed her and got off the bed. “And if I can’t get the sriracha?”

“Tabasco will do just fine.” Charlotte offered a thumbs up.

 

…

 

“And in that bog there was a tree, a rare tree, a rattlin' tree…” The warbler singsonged against her belly button, as she did most nights. “A tree in the bog, in the bog down in the valley-o!” She clapped the chorus.

“If I have to listen to this nursery rhyme one more time.” Charlotte lifted an exasperated eyebrow. “Seriously!” She giggled and slapped the top of Becky’s shoulder as her mouth opened again and threatened to sing.

“Well alright!” Becky gave it up and rolled on her back, a small smirk in her cheeks. “I just want to make sure they’ve got some Irish in them…”

“It’s your baby, they would have more than enough Irish in them without you forcing me to drink Barry’s tea and listen to that god awful song.” Charlotte rolled on her side and tucked a rope of ginger hair behind Becky’s ear. “Speaking of which, do you think my dad will ever figure out how surrogate IVF works?” She raised a brow.

“I don’t think it matters, he’s thrilled and that’s enough for me.”

“Did you see the bathtime robe he sent over?”

“With the silk feathers on the collar and the huge ‘Flair’ lettering on the back? I did, and I loved it.” Becky nodded enthusiastically. “Do you think Doc Martens make baby booties?” She lifted a brow, wanting to get in on the action with tiny versions of her own ring attire.

“I think we’re one Google search away from finding out.” Charlotte bit the bait and pulled her phone off the side table.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Becky clambered to her knees with a gleeful look. “We could get a little black t-shirt that says ‘The Lad’ on the front! The Man and The Lad! That’s what I want to wear when we show the baby off!”

“What will my t-shirt say?”

“You don’t get one.”

“The fuck I don’t.” Charlotte lowered a serious look. “I am growing you a baby. I am 3D printing tiny fingernails, right now, as we speak, and I don’t even get a lousy t-shirt??”

“But The Man gimmick is my thing!” Becky flopped down and playfully huffed. “Maybe you can have one that says ‘The Woman’ but it will have to be in a slightly smaller font, and you’ll have to stand in the back of the pictures.”

“I am not above throwing you out of that window.” Charlotte pointed to their bedroom curtains.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Charlotte, you know I like it when you get testy.”

 

…

 

The sofa had been napped on all afternoon, the television eventually switched itself off with the longevity of her snooze, the sky had dimmed into darkness, and the huge swell of her bump was wrangled with for space. Charlotte opened her eyes and rubbed her cheek, grumpy and still tired.

Becky was sat on the floor beneath her, quietly reading something on the iPad that was precariously cradled in one hand while her other was pushed out backwards with fingers settled protectively on the bump. It looked uncomfortable. Becky didn’t seem to mind.

“What are you doing?” Charlotte mumbled with sleep in her voice.

“Reading up on the internet about this early-years mothering craic,” Becky replied and pushed her glasses on top of her head. “Trying to get a head start on the whole thing.”

“How long have you been on the floor?” Charlotte sat up and felt guilty.

“An hour or two,” Becky shrugged. “You looked peaceful, and it made me feel useful just… being around.” The smile pushed up her cheeks.

“You like being useful, huh?” Charlotte smiled knowingly.

The last six months couldn’t be complained about in the slightest. Becky was perfect, was doting, was slightly over-protective but otherwise the picture perfect example of selflessness. Charlotte had became irritable the further she got to term, it was expected, planned for, and yet it was rarely if ever directed at the troublemaker. If anything pregnancy had only made her love Becky all the more.

“It makes me feel like your big strong man,” Becky chuckled and clambered to her numb feet, dipping down to press a kiss against her wife’s cheek. “So what can I do for you today?”

“Nothing really,” Charlotte shrugged and pulled her wife on to the sofa.

There was a tilt of the head that made Becky look slightly like a doberman puppy, almost. She swallowed and blinked, as if the statement couldn’t be taken with any sort of seriousness.

“I can take your things out of the hospital bag and iron them again so they’re nice and crisp—”

“We’re only seven months in, baby, we’re not going to the hospital any time soon.” Charlotte smoothed the head that settled on her chest.

“Well, I could give you a back rub?”

“I don’t need a back rub.”

“I could put together some more of the furniture while you complain I’m not doing it right, you _love_ doing that!” Becky reminded, more than a little needy for an errand.

“We promised Dad we would leave some of the stuff for when he visits this weekend, remember?” Charlotte reasoned. “He likes being helpful too, we’re his girls.”

“You’re my girl.” Becky protested slightly.

“Well, did you take the chicken out of the freezer to thaw?”

“Of course! Well, no—I didn’t.” Becky winced and lifted a finger. “I threw the frozen chicken away because I didn’t want to risk you to getting the Consumption.”

“The Consumption?” Charlotte levelled a stare.

“Salmonella, well, any type of sickness really. It’s all Consumption. The flu? Consumption. Chicken pox? Consumption. Cooking a thawed out chicken when I can just go to the shops and get a fresh one? Absolutely _begging_ for the Consumption.” Becky lifted her eyebrows with absolute unbridled seriousness. “I went to the shops this morning so it’s all taken care of… this is a Consumption free household.”

“Colour me relieved,” Charlotte sighed to herself in disbelief and rubbed the worrier’s spine. “Well, that was all I needed you to do today. Good job, you’re batting three-hundred as always.”

“Surely there must be something else I can do for you?” Becky seemed troubled by the thought of a free evening. “Run you a bath? Aggressively tweet whichever Real Housewives star has pissed you off this week? Take you for a drive somewhere? Well, ideally not that because you’re quite far along now and I don’t want you out of the house _but_ … I’ll do just about anything else?” She hurried over the last point.

Charlotte just chewed the corners of her smile and tried her hardest not to laugh. Of course, the doting wife currently doubling as her comfort blanket needed a set amount of tasks for the day before she could rest easy. It left her deep in thought, trying to think of errands to send Becky out on.

“Remember when you used to throw me through steel chairs, wasn’t that fun?” Charlotte reminisced with a longing sigh.

“One day we’ll do it again… just not right now.” Becky rubbed the swell of her belly.

“Maybe I could be the first pregnant woman to compete in a Royal Rum—”

“If you finish that sentence.”

Charlotte just giggled and petted the worrier. “I honestly can’t think of anything I need you to do, honey.”

“There must be something...” Becky grew all the more restless. “Honestly, I can iron your things—”

“Becky if you keep ironing our clothes we’re going to look like Blue’s Clues characters.” Charlotte lifted her hand and shook her head in exasperation.

“What if you get hungry later? Should I go to the shops now and get a head start?” Becky suggested.

“Well do we have canned pineapple in the cupboard?” Charlotte hoped she found a solution to her wife’s restlessness.

“Eighteen tins to be exact, I made Foley take me to CostCo with his membership last week.” Becky seemed impressed with herself.

“Are they the Dole kind?”

“Of course, do you think me a fool?”

“Do we have hot sauce—”

“CostCo.” Becky reminded. “I’ve stocked up enough pineapples, hot sauce and lime sugar in this house to see you through the menopause.”

“You’re so stupid,” Charlotte whispered and shook her head, smiling and frustrated by how much she loved the idiot. “Oh, wait.” She opened her eyes. “There is one thing you can do…”

“Name it.”

“Can you head over to Bayley and Sasha’s place? There’s something I need you to pick up.”

“Go get my car keys because I am the man for the job, love!” Becky got up with renewed purpose and went on the hunt for her jacket. “What am I picking up?”

“Oh just something!” Charlotte waved it off.

 

…

 

“Avon calling!” A voice too chipper for this time of evening called from the opened back door.

Sasha peered over her shoulder and caught sight of the gleaming, bright eyed smile. Becky closed the back door again and wiped her feet on the mat, not quite well enough for Sasha’s liking.

“Again please,” she nodded down at the black boots with folded arms. “Like you mean it this time.”

“Well someone is feeling very house proud today!” Becky scuffed her feet on the house mat a little more enthusiastically. “I take it Bayley is home? I could see the double rainbow ending here all the way from my house…” She simpered and glanced around for the fourth horsewoman.

“Here!” Bayley poked her head around the door with a beaming grin. “I’ve got homemade vegetable chips, I’ve got hummus, kombucha _and_ a game of Risk set up and ready to go!”

“You know me so well.” Becky nodded admiringly at the hugger, her lips forming into the tightest, proudest smile. “But, I’m only here on a quick errand. Charlotte sent me over to fetch something—”

“Yeah, your last damn brain cell.” Sasha twisted over her shoulder from the kitchen island where wine was being uncorked. “She said we’re not allowed to let you leave until you’ve been fed, socialised, and brought back to planet earth.”

“What are you talking about?” Becky glanced around suspiciously.

Sasha pulled out her phone and thumbed through her most recent messages, clicking Charlotte’s name and offering it forward to the Irish woman.

Becky read them in chronological order:

 

_Charlotte, 5.12pm: Becky is getting cabin fever can you take her off my hands for a few hours?_

_Sasha, 5,14pm: Care to elaborate?_

_Charlotte, 5.15pm: It’s like having a helper monkey that slowly turns into a gremlin when there aren’t things to help with. She’s getting restless. She’s waiting in the shadows, foraging for shit to do._

_Charlotte, 5.16pm: So I was thinking she needs a girls night and I need a few hours peace._

_Sasha, 5.16pm: You’re asking us to babysit your wife?”_

_Charlotte, 5.16pm: ...Yes_

_Charlotte, 5.16pm: I don’t want to bring up the time I helped you get Bayley’s ring boots professionally cleaned after the puppy incident but I will. I’m not above that, Sasha._

_Bayley, 5.17pm: Honey, what is Charlotte talking about?_

_Sasha, 5.17pm: Nothing. Nothing happened to your ring boots._

_Sasha, 5.18pm: I love you, light of my life._

_Bayley, 5.18pm: Okay, that doesn’t seem suspicious in the slightest._

_Bayley, 5,18pm: also :) I :) love :) you :) too :) xoxo_

_Sasha, 5.19pm: We’ll take Becky. Count this as us square._

_Charlotte, 5.20pm: Knew I could count on you both. Wakanda forever._

_Sasha, 5.21pm: Wakanda forever._

_Bayley, 5.22pm: Wakanda forever._

 

Becky snapped her stare up from the phone screen, and her eyes filled with a faint sense of betrayal. She looked at Sasha first and her lips fidgeted into a small grimacing scowl. She looked at Bayley, unable to not smile at least a little bit because Bayley was impossible not to smile at — she was, for all intents and purposes, a human ray of sunshine.

“So this is what it has come to?” Becky hmph’d and crossed her arms. “You guys are just doing the Wakanda Forever thing without me now?”

Bayley sighed and toed guiltily through the kitchen. “Don’t be mad, Becks. I have really, really, really missed you… I’m so super psyched that you’re here! You’re not going to leave early, right? I set Risk up after all…”

“Oh come here you little gumdrop!” Becky relented and ran at her, their bodies colliding in a hug. “You know I could never stay mad at you,” her voice was lowered to a small whisper.

“And what about me?” Sasha piped up.

“You—” The Irish woman span on her feet and levelled a serious look. “I haven’t quite got round to being unmad with yet.”

“But Bayley gets a free pass?”

“Look at her.” Becky glared and pointed at the dimpled grin. “How do you be mad at that??”

Sasha just smiled. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out too.” She rolled her eyes.

 

…

 

_Charlotte, 9.58pm: Is Becky still with you guys?_

_Bayley, 9.59pm: She left fifteen minutes ago._

_Charlotte, 10.00pm: Awesome. So she’ll be home any minute now, right?_

_Sasha, 10.01pm: Yeah, stop panicking. I mean unless you’ve gone into labour. God, can you imagine how bad that would be?_

_Bayley, 10.02pm: Sasha don’t say stuff like that!_

_Bayley, 10.02pm: (Sorry if that sounded pointed, I love you more than anything.)_

_Sasha, 10.03pm: (I love you too, you’re the air that I breathe.)_

_Sasha, 10.03pm: You okay, Charlotte?_

_Charlotte, 10.04pm:  No, not really._

_Bayley, 10.05pm: Aw, so you did you miss Becky after all? :) :) :)_

_Charlotte, 10.05pm: Guys..._

_Charlotte, 10.05pm: I think I’m having contractions._

 

…

 

The front door opened and closed, the boots were kicked off, the sound of layers being shed with a peaceful sigh echoed down the hallway, and Charlotte felt the strangest feeling of calmness soothe the decimation of her worry.

Becky was home.

The troublemaker would know exactly what to do.

“Alright, alright,” Becky chuckled to herself and poked her head around the living room door. “I was mad at first but you were right… I did need a girls night, badly. I’ve drank so much kombucha it’s given me a tummy ache.” She footed further inside and slumped in the arm chair. “I would have brought you some home but I think it’s slightly alcoholic so… no kombucha for you two.” She frowned playfully.

“Kombucha is alcoholic?” Charlotte raised a confused eyebrow.

“The fermenting process, traits amount of alcohol.” The Irish woman nodded and tossed her ginger hair up in a ponytail.

“Huh, the things you learn. So you did have a good night after all?” Charlotte inhaled and blinked. “That’s good. That’s really good, that you had a nice night, I mean.”

“Mhm,” Becky smiled and was still none the wiser. “How was your night? Did you get a little peace and quiet?”

“Not really,” Charlotte whispered with a deep gulp.

“Oh?”

“I’m having contractions.”

“Ha! That sounded like you just said you’re having contractions,” Becky chuckled and slumped in her seat. There was a long, sobering pause. Becky lost her smile and became entirely serious. “Wait, did you just say you’re having contractions?” She scrambled out of the chair.

“I guess I should have lead with that, maybe?” Charlotte winced and tried not to panic. “Listen, I’m scared and I need you to not be scared. Can you do that? Because I’m only seven and a half months into this and I am definitely not supposed to be having _fucking_ contractions, Becky.” She shook her head gravely.

“Okay, alright, it’s going to be alright love.” Becky didn’t waste any time running for her purse. “I’m going to call the obstetrician and… and… you just try and keep the baby in! Don’t sneeze, don’t burp, none of that!”

“What? For the next month and a half?!” Charlotte gawked in disbelief.

 

…

 

“The baby is too little.” The tears were frightened, were horrified, were the calculated attempts of her body trying to prepare itself for this one good thing to be torn out beneath their feet along with everything else. “We can’t do this, not yet, we’re not ready, the baby isn’t ready,” it was reeled off too fast as doctors piled in and out of the room.

“Listen to me,” Becky grabbed her fiercely tight. “You just concentrate on this and let me worry about the rest. It’s all going to be alright, love, I promise it will be okay.” The worrier hushed and kissed the top of her head.

“It’s my fault.” Charlotte frantically shook her head. “I did something wrong, I _must_ have done something wrong.”

“Don’t you dare.” Becky became serious and stern. “You got them this far, that was all you. You’re doing your best work and I am in _awe_ of you.” The tears pearled her eyes.

Charlotte swallowed and nodded, trying to process the turn of events. The doctors seemed calm to begin with, certain that it was either indigestion or Braxton Hicks. Then, the news came that she was in fact having contractions, and still the doctors didn’t seem too panicky. Instead they reeled off technical terms and diagnoses in that speedy cool way doctors tend to do and explained that so long as the waters didn’t break all would be well...

Then, the big gush happened.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!” Charlotte became angry. “We got through the hard part! Conceiving was supposed to be the hard part! This was supposed to be easy!”

“I know,” Becky placated softly and dodged out of the way as doctors prepared for the emergency c-section. “But this is only the beginning, my love, this is the rest of our lives now. It all changes after today. And I promise you we’re going to be so, so happy! Just get through this last hurdle with me?” She urged, eyes filled with love.

“Together,” Charlotte inhaled and became certain that everything would be alright. “Promise me you won’t leave the baby alone? As soon as they’re born go with them wherever they go…”

“If that’s what you want.” Becky nodded. “But trust me, there’s enough of me to take care of the both of you.”

“I love you,” Charlotte promised.

“Not if I love you first.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Sorry,” Becky swallowed her nerves. “Yeah, I screwed the pooch on that one. Can we try again?”

“I love you,” Charlotte managed a small smile.

“Love you later alligator.”

“Now you’re just trying to make me laugh.” Charlotte pointed angrily. “You don’t get to make me laugh right now!” She huffed back a gasp that wanted to be a chuckle.

“Well alright,” Becky leaned forward and kissed her again. She cupped her jaw and rubbed it with her thumb, her eyes filled with adoration. “I love you.”

 

…

 

The body in the bed ticked and slept, breathed because of the tubes, twitched occasionally but not of her own volition. Becky sat there for so long that day and night became abstract concepts that didn’t exist in the tiny world of this hospital room. All that existed for them was moment to moment, heartbeat to heartbeat, one mechanical hiss of breath to the next.

“If you felt like waking up that would be lovely,” Becky whispered and craned forward, her lips resting against the knuckles carefully cradled in her palms. “But if you need to sleep a bit longer that’s alright too, I trust you.”

 

…

 

The baby was so tiny, so perfect, so little and loud that there would never be any doubt of her Irishness. Becky cradled the tiny thing between both palms, absolutely in awe and unbothered by the feeding tube or tiny heart monitor pads. Their child was strong, just like Charlotte, and no amount of medical paraphernalia would convince Becky otherwise.

“I don’t think they make t-shirts tiny enough for you,” Becky whispered and smiled. “But maybe I could wear a Man t-shirt with a little pocket that says The Lad and stick you in there instead, just for a bit. What would you think to that?”

The baby yawned and curled its tiny penny-sized fists.

“Mmm,” Becky hummed and felt her mouth slacken into a lazy smirk. “A few more days under the superhero radioactive lamp and I’ll take you to meet Mommy. Well, if she doesn’t come and meet you first.” Hope was maintained that such might be the case.

The baby made a tiny noise, almost a complaint.

“I know,” Becky agreed with a sigh. “I would give my life for the pair of you, I really would.” She didn’t want to think too much about it. “Well!” She forced herself to be chirpy. “It’s a good job I have the strongest girls in the world so I never have to, isn’t that right?” She cooed.

 

…

 

“If you felt like waking up soon… I would be grateful.” Becky kissed her cheek and tried not to be worried. “Sleeping in this chair is doing nothing for my back.”

 

…

 

A week passed.

“You better stop fucking around and wake up now.” Becky felt guilty for being sharp. “I love you, but you’re really trying your hardest to worry me.”

 

…

 

Becky stirred at three in the morning, certain her hand was being squeezed.

“Love?” She craned over and waited for something, anything.

The tube that breathed on her wife’s behalf was suddenly gagged against and fought.

“There’s my girl!” Becky shouted and thumped the air with her fist.

 

…

 

“The baby?” It was barely a choked whisper, said so tiredly and full of exhaustion that Becky had to lipread it.

“A little girl,” Becky whispered back and tucked the hair off her face. “I named her Becky Junior.”

Charlotte cracked her eyes open furiously.

“Just kidding,” Becky grinned and wept. “She’s so tiny, so beautiful, so strong.” She stretched out every syllable with pride. “Her fists are the size of pennies but she knows how to throw them around already.”

“I want to see my baby,” Charlotte’s voice croaked with inactivity.

“Rest for a bit, just until morning.” It earned another furious look. “I know, I know, but she won’t grow up and go to college in the next four hours so just sleep for now, for me?”

 

…

 

“I stopped breathing twice and they had to put me in an induced coma… and you weren’t worried?!” Charlotte lifted an insulted eyebrow from where she sat propped on the pillows.

“You’re Charlotte Flair.” Becky lifted an eyebrow too as if she were stating an obvious answer, she wrestled with the wheelchair her wife was still not warming up towards clambering in. “As in _the_ Charlotte Flair.”

“Well when you put it like that…” Charlotte blinked, suddenly flattered.

The truth was that Becky had never known fear like it, had never experienced that sort of permanent absence of time before and never wanted to experience it again. It had felt like purgatory, like a plane where forever was a single second and a single second was forever. As if, her entire world hung on the praecipe of each beep of the heart monitor.

Though, Becky could barely admit that to herself, let alone Charlotte.

“You ready? Your carriage awaits.” Becky nodded down to the chair.

“I want to walk.”

“Seven hours ago they took you off a ventilator. Please don’t run before you can walk, or rather please don’t walk before you can breathe unaided.”

“I want to walk,” Charlotte repeated herself more sternly.

“Please don’t make me armbar you into this contraption, because I’m not above it.”

“Rude.”

“You died twice and slept for a week, don’t talk to me about rude.”

“Fair point. Thank you for having a sense of humour about it.” Charlotte lifted a cheeky eyebrow as she edged off the bed towards the wheelchair.

They left the room and navigated the hallway speedily, and still not quite speedily enough for Charlotte’s liking. Becky hurried towards the elevator and couldn’t help but smile at the impatient sighs and hurry ups from her wife.

“I promised you it would all be alright in the end, didn’t I?” Becky said, hitting the call button by the elevator doors.

“She still has mountains ahead of her, she isn’t out of the woods yet,” Charlotte worried and rubbed her lips.

“Oh, you wait, she’s a Hall Of Famer already, just you wait until you see her. And you know that might just be about the only thing that is your fault, you made her tough and strong!” Becky beamed proudly.

“Do you think she’ll know who I am?” Charlotte looked over her shoulder with guilt in her eyes as the elevator doors opened.

“We watch your wrestling highlights every single day, she sleeps for the most part but when she’s awake… my goodness.” Becky grinned. “She’s a Flair through and through, eight days old and I’m over fighting it.”

 

…

 

Motherhood came naturally, instinctively even. The baby was crying and making a scene with the nurses when they finally found the unit. Charlotte didn’t even have to ask which one was theirs, her heart already knew. She took the tiny little thing to her chest and felt her settle and relax instantly, as if the baby was saying in so many words, ‘Oh thank god you’re here… I was beginning to get homesick!’

Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. She realised in an instant that life would never be the same again, no more measured spoonfuls, no more living one hour to the next, they were mothers and for the rest of their lives this tough little girl would be how they kept track of the time.

“She already has hair?” Charlotte shot a look of disbelief at her grinning wife and traced over the tiny thatch of brown hair. “And she’s so strong!” She gasped and looked at the tiny fist curled around her ring finger.

“She cries with an Irish accent too.” Becky beamed proudly.

“Relax,” Charlotte chuckled and couldn’t take her eyes off the littlest troublemaker. She sighed and lowered her voice to a tiny whisper, completely awestruck. “You know, you remind me of someone I once knew, a long time ago.” She swallowed hard and chewed her lip.

“I think you should name her, love,” Becky crouched beside the wheelchair and peered at their daughter too. “You made her strong, brought her into the world, she deserves a decent name.” It was said as if Becky had known for quite some time exactly what that name should be.

Charlotte smiled and watched their daughter wrinkle her little nose.

“It’s a big name, one with a lot of history that comes with big boots to fill, but something tells me you’re just the little woman for the job.” She lifted the little girl. “So welcome to the world, Reid Flair.”

 

 

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